


Defessus Morte (Tired of Death)

by GrayGlass7



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: -kinda, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apathetic Harry Potter, Couch Cuddles, Dark Harry Potter, Good Slytherins, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Other, Parselmouth Harry Potter, Parseltongue, Self-Harm, Sleepy Cuddles, Slytherin Common Room, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:40:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29504247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrayGlass7/pseuds/GrayGlass7
Summary: Sirius is dead.He’s...dead. Gone. Vanished.An empty desolate space is where he once was.It hurts, why was it him who died? Why, why, why. He doesn’t want their pity, he just needs quiet. Why can’t anyone hear the noise.It’s all pointless now, no one to look forward to. No escape.They’re all dead.All of them.No-one is left, so why can’t he go too?He’s alone.His only family gone.Remus wont speak to him.His friends are suffocating.He just wants his brain to. Shut. Up. For once.—————BASICALLY IGNORING MAIN PLOTi apologise for inaccuracies.Harry has a fat fucking breakdown after Sirius dies, cause fck anyone who wants to believe he was less than broken after that happened.sorry if there are any weird words or random contrasting emotion descriptions anywhere, English isn’t my most proficient aspect lmao(me indulging in a guilty pleasure of fcking up Harrys brain)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Pansy Parkinson & Harry Potter
Comments: 21
Kudos: 98





	1. Suffocate

He let out a sigh tinged with exhaustion. The smoke curling into barely visible swirls before his face, then slowly dissipating into nothing. Being this high up with these thoughts was probably not wise, and while he acknowledged this - Harry made no move to take the steps all the way back down the astronomy tower.

It was quiet. Lonely but quiet. Finally, he thought, people are too loud. He brushed his hands across his face, knocking his glasses askew and ran his fingers though his messy locks. 

“Fuck,” he muttered out as the cold of the stone hit his arse when he sat down, legs hanging off the edge. It could be worse. Growing up with the Dursley’s made him learn that rule, even after all the shit they did to him. It could be worse.

His face had seemed to of been stuck in a permanent state of nothing for days, no grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, no wide eyed stares at the extravagant pranks created by the devil twins. He was just so excruciatingly tired.  
His Godfather was dead. Gone, along with the rest of his family. Removed from this world with no hesitation.

And now, thats all he wished for himself. To just be gone.

No more unwanted fame, no more stares of unearned awe, no more having to deal with the wizarding worlds fluctuating opinions of him.

Another hollow sigh pushed its way past his lips, this time the swirls of air were pushed as his hand reached up to hold his face. As though he was blind, imprinting the features to memory. He felt dead, so perhaps this was an instinct in a way to make sure he wasn’t.

His hand eventually reached his throat, and before his eyes flashed memories of Sirius’ barking laugh cracking open the silence. His nose prickled as tears threatened to fall. Sirius’ face used to completely transform into pure mirth when he laughed, erasing any evidence of Azkaban. He was only just starting to be happy, and then he died. His life removed viciously by the bitch of a women Bellatrix.

A choked off sound left his throat, a broken desperate gasp bordering on sob. His eyes blurred as more tears fell, drowning him in the pure unadulterated pain of losing someone.  
Snuffles, Sirius, Padfoot.

“F-fuck,” he gasped out, clawing with one hand on his through and wiping his eyes with the other. The bitter tears didn’t care as they forced there way onto his face, “Please, p-please, plea-.” another sob dragged out of his throat, he had no idea what he was praying for. For Sirius to come back? For a good nights sleep? Somethings he’d not had for weeks, maybe even months. For just some peace and quiet for once?

He whined, a cry of internal agony bleeding through vocally. He was glad for the muffling charm now, something to protect what was left of his dignity.

This made him laugh, a distraught chuckle leaving his lips as a lie and sounding like a plead. Dignity. How pointless, how worthless it was in the end.

It felt like hours, but was more likely not, before the sobs that were racking his body left and silent tear began.

They were worse. He was so tired that even crying took too much energy for him, he merely sat there staring into nothing as he waited for the salty drops to stop.

A light breeze flowed through the tower, hitting his neck sharply making a stinging sensation resonate through him. He chanced a reach up with a hand that had fallen into his lap and hissed as he touch the skin.

He must’ve scratched too hard, shit. He sighed, lovely - another thing he had to worry over.

Oh.

Footsteps. Around two pairs, maybe more? His tired mind couldn’t form the sounds properly and was still thinking about it as they reached the top of the stairs to the area he was in. The muffling charms must’ve started to weaken a couple minutes back.

“...Potter?” A blank question sounded out into the moonlit space. Malfoy. Just great. The steps had slowed to a halt as, assumedly the leader of the group, Malfoy froze.

Harry took this chance to tilt his head back towards them. Fuck shame, what was the point? Sure, chances of him looking like he just went through an entire mental breakdown were high. But thats what happened, so at this moment in time. He couldn’t care less.

“Mmh?” Harry murmured out a hum in questioning, pointing exhausted eyes at the blond standing near the top of the staircase. His vocals coming out shallow and whisper-y, his voice ruined from...before.

Pansy Parkinson was standing behind him on the right, staring at him with equal amounts of the weird unidentifiable emotion that Malfoy was showing. Concern? Annoyance? Spite?

“What- what in Morganas name happened, Potter?” Parkinson voiced out, eyebrows furrowed as she stared at him. The mess that must be his neck, and the state his face must’ve been in for her to ask that with such...worry?

“Oh,” Harry turned his gaze back to his hand, blood on the fingertips and smudged into his palm when he’d gripped it earlier. 

Oh, he was so tired. 

So eternally tired, he could barely breathe.


	2. Encompassed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo,  
> 5 minutes later and heres the next chapter,  
> I didn’t like how the first was only 885 words,
> 
> I felt bad,
> 
> so
> 
> Here ya go

He must’ve lost concentration completely because when he looked around again, Parkinson was crouched beside him on his left, looking at the scratches and the blood on his right hand.

Slytherins showing concern? Odd. You could say it was rarer than rare, he supposed.

He didn’t fight the girl when she hooked his right arm around her shoulder, to avoid irritating the scratches probably. 

Malfoy was standing in the corner speaking inaudibly to Parkinson, a few words like ‘patrol’ ‘slytherin’ and ‘common room’ came to his ears but he ignored it. The amount of effort needed to care was too much, right now. 

His legs started moving when Parkinson did, leading him forward. He attempted to not think about it, knowing that if he did he’d trip from the over thinking, from the tiredness emanating from his feat. 

He barely processed descending the astronomy tower stairs, walking through the hallways, and down another multitude of stair cases before they arrived at the cold halls of the dungeon.

He feet were significantly more tired than before, and as he though about each step he took, the warm presence of Parkinson holding him up on one side and the quiet one of Malfoys on the other he tripped.

One foot locking up and catching behind the other, he stumbled,

“Damnit!” A sharp hiss left his lips as the hands that had reached and grabbed him before he fell, stilled. Oh for Merlins sake, Parseltongue? Now? Really? Is that the best you can do to freak out the people trying to help you? (Or kidnap, torture and murder you)  
Harrys luck was already in a severe decline and it truly didn’t show any sign of stopping.

Malfoy and Parkinson eventually started moving again, this time Malfoy making sure that he didn’t trip again. Obviously to avoid another bout of Parseltongue.

He fazed out again after turning another corner, he mind drifting to nothing, subconsciously trying not to think of how bloody cold he was.

He came to as they stopped at a wall. And what he knew - from second year - as the Slytherin common room. What? Why was he here? Not that he wanted to return to Gryffindor but the fact stayed that him being at Slytherin was taboo.

The wall opened and Malfoy took the lead, walking through ahead of them down a tunnel, casting a shadow on Parkinson and himself from the light in the common room.

Oh shit, Harry though exasperatedly, it seemed the Slytherin house was a house of night owls. From a quick glance around, there were a collection of students scattered around the desks beside the window pointing into the lake. Working on homework, he assumes from the mountains of parchment around them each.

Little groups of students where talking quietly by one of the fire places, relaxing on the floor and talking amiably among each other.

It was quiet, his mumbled brain uttered to himself, very unlike Gryffindor. It was nice. 

Except the staring. Oh fucking hell the staring. Each snake was staring daggers into his being, it didn’t assist his situation that he was basically hanging off of Parkinson (despite being taller than the oddly strong female).

He was lead through to one of the fireplaces that were empty despite what he recognised as a few of his year mates whom he’d never spoken with before. Their stares were much sharper than the other snakes’, as though calculating him and trying to pick him apart at the seams.

Parkinson sat him down in the middle of the black couch with a surprising amount of gentleness, loosening her grip that she had around his waste to allow him to sit comfortably. Or as comfortably as he could when having over 40 eyes stabbing into him from every angle.

He heard a mutter from Malfoy, asking - Theo? Was it? To get some sort of cream from the dorms. At that request, the brunette-boys eyes returned to him, or more his neck with a quiet questioning. Nonetheless, he left to the stairs at the back of the common room.

Harry was sleepy at this point, his sleep addled brain blocking out the unknown stares to focus on the heat literally geminating from the green fire. Very cool, the colour was stunning and he wondered if Ravenclaws had blue fire? That’d be interesting.

His thoughts where broken through by a question from Malfoy, who’d sat on his left and was now staring intently at him,

“So?” Malfoy asked, eyes narrowed but the the usual snide-ness of his voice was gone. 

“What.” Harrys voice once again only let out a croak of a sound, no doubt to the dramatic sobbing that occurred only before.  
He could see Malfoy’s eyebrows furrow slightly in - what he’s decided to just accept was - concern.

“I said,” he spoke in a slower but not mocking tone, “What were you doing up there, Potter? And what, in Merlins name, happened to your neck?” 

It was weird. Being spoken to Malfoy like he was a human being and not just the ‘Golden boy’, his mind sneered the nickname out as he thought,

“I-it’s,” harry let out a cough, futilely attempting to clear his though of the croaky tone it had taken on, “it’s quiet up there.” Deciding just to whisper, at-least then he’d be able to speak.

It wasn’t a lie either, he truly went up there for the quiet. The thoughts of killing himself and jumping off only arrived later on as he stood up there.

“And your neck?” Malfoy asked again, showing just how well his pureblood mask was mastered. Harrys eyes flickered away and back to the fire, passing over a dark skinned boy peering over a book and looking at both of them with heavy concentration.

Harry huffed an airy attempt at a short laugh,  
“...had a breakdown, i suppose.” There was zero point to lying. But evidently Malfoy had not been expecting such a blunt answer from him, as he shifted uncomfortably at the corner of his vision.

To think, he made a Slytherin uncomfortable over something so small, it was strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a kudos,  
> Makes my day better <3
> 
> leave comments for criticism or if you like it, Thankyou.
> 
> I’ll post a new chapter soon, probably tomorrow.


	3. Enwreathed

He must’ve fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes again he was looking in the direction behind the couch, Malfoy’s chest rumbling against his own as he talked with the others. He was straddling the blondes lap, arms underneath the other boy’s loosely clinging to the back of his no doubt expensive shirt.

The smell of mint and apple was a pleasant thing to wake up to, and even though it was clearly the evening, he felt weirdly refreshed.

Closing his eyes again, he tightened his grip on the shirt and leaned back slightly to push his face into the side of Malfoy’s neck. This was way too comfortable of a situation to pass up because of useless embarrassment so he just decided to not give a fuck that the person he was cuddling was Draco ‘git’ Malfoy.

Harry let out a soft sigh nonetheless, something he’d been increasingly doing lately for numerous reasons, and the breath hit the pale throat he was resting against. The blonde froze, 

“...Potter?” Malfoy spoke quietly, Harry didn’t think he’d ever heard the prat speak so softly - though it wasn’t that soft in all honesty, the contrast to how he usually speaks was very there.

“Mmh?” Harry acknowledged sleepily, in no way moving from the position.

The conversation that must’ve been occurring when he was asleep, quietened. He could feel Malfoy about to pull away, and while he was about to just clutch even more tightly as to not move, it was probably best he did.

Harry leaned back, his eyes not appreciating the light - even at its low tone - a yawn escaped before he could hold it. He placed a hand to his face, an attempt to brush away the tiredness.

His glasses weren’t on his face, so when he properly focused, he could only see the blurred figure of Malfoy. Squinting at the boy, he looked around futilely for them, he couldn’t see them anywhere - no surprise there,

“Malfoy,” Harry implored with a frown, jolting Malfoy out of whatever state he was in, “I need my glasses?” He spoke the croak in his voice had turned into a low grumble, probably from sleeping, he raised an eyebrow furthering the question.

Before Malfoy had a chance to react, glasses appeared in-front of him, another hand holding the out for him. 

Harry muttered a thank you to the person and placed them back on, sliding off Malfoy’s annoyingly comfortable lap in the process to sit beside him instead.

He then noticed Nott on the sofa as to Parkinson, who seems to of took leave already,

“What time’s it?” He murmured in question not aimed towards anyone in particular, stretching his arms above his head letting out a huff of air as he stretched in a catlike manner.

“It’s quarter to three.” The dark skinned guy replied absently, watching Harry similarly to the others. They seem to be expecting him to cause a scene, begin a fight, or instigate a battle of vile insults.

Harry near groaned at the time mentioned, realising without a doubt that he wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep. 

All four of them fell into a silence, whether it was an uncomfortable one Harry was unsure, but it seemed like the Slytherins were trying to find a way to ask what actually had happened.  
Harry doubted that they had zero clue to what happened in the Ministry...Malfoy’s father was there after all.

It felt odd, Harry recalled, when Bellatrix shot the spell at Sirius. The short glimpses he got of her before she ran off laughing hysterically was that of pure surprise. As though she hadn’t meant to hit him at all.  
This obviously didn’t deter him from screaming him lungs out, and attempting a cruciatus on the deranged women. Harry placed his head in his hand, his arm resting on his knee, focusing on the carpet pushed against the sofa.

A lovely green.

The same colour of his eyes that he saw reflected off of the Marble floors of the ministry. Fuck, Harry internally cursed, even when trying to put his mind off of it - the thoughts of what happened just kept coming back. 

Harry rubbed his eyes, shifting his glasses, what was he going to do now? Here he was in the literal Slytherin common room, and its not like he could leave without getting caught by night patrol. He cursed, this time aloud, how in Merlins name does he get himself into these situations.

Reaching up to his neck when he felt a twinge, his fingers hit neat lines of bandages. Eyebrows furrowed, he flicked his hand so his wand appeared (from the wand-holster he’d decided was a worthwhile buy from one of the past hogsmead trips) and cast an uttered finite to the bandages, which then loosened and flitted back out of existence into the wand. 

He heard a low hiss from his left and turned, Malfoy was looking at his neck with narrowed eyes, bloody hell was it really that bad?

Summoning a mirror and looking for himself he decided, Yes, it was that bad. The left side of his neck looked as though it’d been ripped apart. No doubt from his hysterics mixed with his unstable magic which probably powered it, like a wandless non-verbal Diffindo he thought absently. 

From under his ear spanning down to bottom of his neck stretching forward to the front, only barely reaching his Adams-apple. He winced as he continued to look at it, he’d seen similar marks on Remus, and that was not reassuring.

The marks where already healing, the cream though not hesitating to leave evidence of already forming scars.

Malfoy’s voice startled him out of his thoughts,

“Are you going to tell us what actually happened?” He reiterated calmly, the blondes eyes still on his neck which only furthered the grimace on Harrys face.

Ah, he may as well tell, he’s already fucked up this far. No stopping now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey,  
> Leave comments if you can-be-arsed, it’s very appreciated!  
> Leave a kudos, if you don’t want to comment.  
> They both make my day better ahah so thankyou.


	4. Surrounded

“...my Godfather died.” Harry susurrated out in a breath. They’d helped him, he supposed, and the heavy probability of them already knowing made not telling them rather pointless.

“Ah.”

It got impossibly quieter, the comfort he usually got in such silence wasn’t there, and he could feel the three boys looking at each other as Harry stared into the viridescent flames. 

“I am sorry for your loss.” The boy sitting in the arm chair said softly, breaking the quiet.

Harry merely nodded, his eyes glued to the fire. He didn’t know what to think, his clear vulnerability in-front of them was making his magic twitch under his skin, the presence of it calmed him though.

After a couple of moments, the conversation they were having before picked up, and the quiet murmurs of the three where calming enough for him to relax. Now leaning back into the couch, black leather cushions bringing him an immense amount of comfort, he allowed himself to ease up in their presence.

“-Well, if you did not read such useless literature instead of doing actual school work,”Notts’ muttered reprimanding was cut off.

“‘Useless literature’? You’re words mean nothing, hypocrite, i do just *fine* with studying. You on the other-hand, Theo-“ the boy cut himself off this time and scoffed, as though that was enough said.

Nott did nothing but glare at the boy, with no heat behind it. He looked prepared to speak up before Malfoy interrupted,

“You both are as consistently terrible at studying as each other. I do not even know why you are continuing this on, Blaise,” Malfoy raised a brow at the boy, Blaise, now staring at him expectantly. “You, yourself, knows exactly how much better you could be doing. Yet choose not to.” The last part was said with a light sneer, but again no actual spite was behind it.

In response, Blaise just snorted and went back to reading him book, the cover murky - covered by a glamour most likely. Sliding in snarky comments where he saw fit, 

Harry felt as though he was intruding, the playful argument betwixt ordinarily cold Slytherins seemed like a private moment. But he continued to watch nonetheless. 

He found himself wishing he had this with his own friends, Ron and Hermione weren’t really the type to just sit down and have a regular conversation (well - at least not without an argument coming out the other end of it. Ending up in one (Hermione) not talking to another (Ron) for a day or so).

That hurt to realise. He didn’t actually have many friends did he? Harry was traditionally stuck with Ron and Hermione because he was perceived as something of the ‘glue’ of the entire friendship. And found it increasingly onerous as time went on.

Reaching a hand up to his throat absently, he grimaced at both the feel of the lacerations and how they both were going to react. 

The overbearing worry from Hermione, followed by an obsessive search for a potion or spell to get rid of the scars in an attempt to help. 

Then, Rons’ own personal expression of ‘bloody hell you look wicked, Harry!’ thusly connected with an annoying jealousy of something that once again puts good-old Harry Potter further into the spotlight.

The grimace on his face turned into a scowl at this, eyebrows furrowing at the thought of another classic jealousy spout from Ron. 

No longer wishing to think about it, he wiped his face of the bitter expression and focused back onto the lull of the conversation around him. It was pleasant, the Blaise guy was speaking with Malfoy about an old potions masters’ journals going on auction during the summer holidays.

Oh that brought another deep scowl onto his face. Harry would no doubt be forced into staying with the Dursley’s again, and now with Sirius...

They were going to be twice as brutal. Fuck. The chances of him actually surviving the holidays were so narrow that he was legitimately beginning to worry for his life.

What a twist that would be, huh? Being killed by a bunch of worthless, abusive muggles over Lord fucking Voldemort who’d been after him longer than he’d actually been alive.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a question aimed at him,

“What are you doing for the Holidays, Potter?”

Another grimace came onto his face before he could hold it. Was it worth telling the Slytherins about the Dursleys? Knowing them they’d use it to their own advantage. But to get what? Other that the Potter accounts and his current standing in the wizarding world as boy-saviour, there wasn’t necessarily anything he could be used for without drawing unnecessary attention (a thing he doubted they wanted to gain). Which is why he said,

“Nothing at all. Staying with muggles the entire summer so,” Harrys voice drifted off on the end, finished with his piece. He was waiting for them to continue among themselves, before he saw the stunned looks from each of them.

“What?” Malfoy gasped slightly.

And after a moments quiet.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” Harry voiced, confused at their own confusion.

“Well, Potter, we were all under the illusion that you were not staying with muggles.” Blaise returned with narrowed eyes, though the harsh look did not seem to be pointed towards him.

“I don’t see why you’d know at all,” Harry shrugged apathetically, not enjoying this topic, “they certainly aren’t worth knowing about, trust me.” He couldn’t keep the sneer out of his voice if he tried, and that only did more to gain further inquiring stares.

“Oh? It can’t be that bad, surely.”

“Be quiet, Nott, even standing beside a muggle is horrific enough let alone living with one.” Malfoy shot back, like he was personally offended by the notion of muggles being anything less than a high inconvenience.

“Mmh,” Harry hummed in acknowledgement, thinking about them now - they truly were that bad, “doesn’t help that they hate magic either.”

Light frowns grew on their faces before Blaise’s head snapped up to stare at him in a moment of realisation. If the muggles hated magic, and Harry Potter here came back from the summer looking like he’d been surviving off of rocks for weeks...Shit, Harry recognised the intent stare from Blaise quickly, and watched as he came to the conclusion.

“The muggles don’t...’mistreat’ you, do they?” Blaise said lowly, eyes panning over Harrys figure - similarly to how Madam Pomfrey does when he returns, adding to the numerous times of visiting, to the infirmary. 

Harry winced. 

“If making someone sleep in a cupboard for eleven years didn’t count as mistreatment, i have no-fucking-clue what does.” Harry spat out, more angry at himself than anything. 

It was pathetic. He was a wizard and he allowed these useless muggles to treat him like a bloody house-elf. He was powerful, not one to lie about power, and yet still he repeatedly turned up powerless against the large whales and spindly horse of a woman.

“Why in the bloody hell are you still going there then?!” Malfoy hissed, eyes wide with shock. The wizarding worlds supposed ‘saviour’ was being neglected and, no doubt, abused by muggles and he was still going back every single year!

“Dumbledore took it upon himself to refuse me to stay anywhere else,” Harry returned, scowling at the fire, “it isn’t like i actually have another place to go, seen as the Weasleys follow whatever Dumbledore says.”

Why couldn’t he just have a moment where he wasn’t being controlled? *He* wanted to be in control for once, to decide where he wanted to go and what he could do. Set his own fucking rules for once.

Alas, he was well and truly stuck. In this little trophy case with a gold plack reading “Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Saviour of the Light”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading,  
> Please leave a kudos or comment! Either are very appreciated!  
> Hope you enjoyed.


	5. Cold

In his thinking, a longer times must’ve passed than he thought, because when he returned focus back onto the world around him his head was resting on Notts’ shoulder to his right.

He must’ve fallen asleep at some point because he couldn’t even remember closing his eyes.

Harry, as due to his shitty childhood, has always been adverse to contact. Whether it was subconsciously done or not, the amount of touch he received from others was limited to a hug a year (mostly from Hermione after they survive a life-threatening ordeal). 

But this, like the cuddling with Malfoy, was almost too nice. The heat emanating from the fire and Nott was addictive, he felt like a snake basking in the midday sun (ironic as that sounded). He went even more slack against the Slytherin, his breath bouncing back at him as it hit Notts’ neck. Harry sunk further into the feeling of warmth, and he felt the muffling of sleep consume him. 

He couldn’t find it within himself to care.

Harry jolted awake, sitting up sharply as he dragged gasps of air into his lungs. 

Sirius-  
infront of him, his face stuck in shock-  
Fuck.

He couldn’t breathe, his throat blocking the needed amount of air out, lungs straining for more air as his breath sped up.

“-ter, Potter! Harry, breathe!” a voice broke through, murky and far away.

“Can’t-. Can’t” Harry attempted to respond, the air seemed more ‘fulfilling’ though.

He heard a curse and some faint bottles clinking around before a presence returned to his side, kneeling on the- bed?

A bottle was pushed to his lips and he faintly recognised the smell of the Calming draught before he swallowed the ashy solution. Immediately, (like magic) a tidal of tranquility dragged the panic away and his breathing evened out gradually.

He realised just as quickly that in his attempt to grab the potion he caught the guys wrist, and hastily dropped it,

“Shit- i’m sorry.” The remaining sleepiness fleeting when he noticed he was in a bed, (his glasses pushed towards him he placed them on his face) dark green and grey covers pooled at the lower end of the bed probably kicked off in his sleep. 

“It’s fine, no problem at all,” Malfoy uttered, already turning round to go to another bed opposite, shuffling through clothes to grab at a black school cloak. And as he was wrapping it round his shoulders he absently said, “It is nearly 7, Potter, you’ll need to get up.”

Harry slipped out of the bed at that, there was no chest at the end of it indicating it didn’t belong to anyone - contrasting to the other 2 beds in the room. He quickly cast a freshening charm on his clothes and himself, trying to ignore the uncomfortable sensation in favour of watching Malfoy collect his books into a leather satchel.

“Uhm,” Harry said unintelligently, realising he’d just spent the evening with the people he’s supposed to be against. Fuck, and the little - okay, maybe not ‘little’ - mental breakdown he went through at the Astronomy tower, “sorry, for last night, it wasn’t-, I didn’t -“

“Again, it’s fine Potter.” Malfoy replied, saving Harry from the stuttering embarrassment of being unable to get any words out, with a raised eyebrow on the otherwise blank face he indicated towards the door, “Are you coming?”

Harry stared as Malfoy then walked across the room to the door, before walking swiftly after him, his robes from yesterday clean but still feeling weighted on his skin - he didn’t like the idea of wearing clothes twice in a row, no matter what cleaning spells there where. He’d get over it though. 

Harrys’ hair in its usual mess, the thing subconsciously reassuring him that everything happening wasn’t due to the world being turned upside down.

He was silent as he followed Malfoy down the corridor, the haze from the Calming draught slowly losing its influence when they reached a stone staircase going up. Reaching the top, it opened into the Slytherin Common room.

A thought breezed his mind, ‘this could’ve been me’. It shook him a little, he hadn’t ever actually thought about it before...Rons hatred for the Snake house was so palpable it even made him refrain from merely thinking about Slytherins (in anything other than a negative light at least). But truly, if he’d of been placed in Slytherin - he would’ve been here. Friends with Malfoy, possibly, and even on civil terms with Snape (though that was doubtful). 

He spotted Nott and Zabini waiting, sitting on the sofa, (his mind, once it had managed to catch up, made him realise who the boy was. He’d spoken to him briefly during potions.) however, not before he saw all the stares. The snakes in the common room where glaring daggers into him, not necessarily with spite - but certainly intense.

He really couldn’t catch a break could he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading so far.
> 
> Apologies for the, once again, short af chapter.   
> I’m writing this at like 3am day after day when inspiration strikes so..
> 
> Please leave a kudos!  
> Or a comment! I appreciate criticism a lot anx will reply.  
> It also makes my day better ahah.


	6. Strangled

He eyed the Slytherins warily before focusing his eyes back onto Nott and Zabini who where watching Malfoy and him walk towards them.

They silently left the common room, the 3 snakes glancing at each other as they walked ahead of him. 

He was going to have to sit at the Gryffindor table, he knew that. But his own sudden feeling of distaste shook him. There wasn’t a reason for him to be happy about sitting with the lions either though... it had become a tradition to stare at Harry at any point in time. Like hungry sharks all peering at him. Oh Merlin, and not even to mention Ron and Hermione - who are going to throw hissy fits of their own-

Fuck.

The scars. His breathing faltered as he snapped his hand to his neck, tracing his fingers along the numerous gashes. He feet stopped moving aswell. The cold of the dungeons chilling him into a halt.

What was he going to do? They were bloody obvious, and his skills going by glamour spells were exponentially shit. Oh, just another way to gain more attention, what an utter joy that is? All the staring. All the whispering. Fuck he was working himself into a panic. 

The boys ahead must of heard the lack of footsteps from behind them at some point and turned around,

“The uh-“ he croaked out as he stared back at them, gesturing to his throat in a jolt, “How do i hide them?”

In response Malfoy retraced the steps and walked towards him, stopping directly ahead. The blonde took out his wand, which made Harry eye it warily,

“Tilt your head,” Harry did so, though hesitantly, Malfoy rolled his eyes and stated, “A glamour.”

A smooth foam of magic coated his skin after Malfoy mumbled out the latin, he then turned around holstered his wand and walked forward back down the corridor.

Well, Harry thought as he trailed behind the Slytherins, that could’ve gone much worse. 

He consciously avoided touching his neck again, until they reached the Great Hall where they separated.

He felt vulnerable. It was weird how even by the very limited time he spent with them he felt safer around them. He counted that towards them being the first sign of support after his little ‘thing’ last night.

Sitting down at the lions table, he couldn’t help but notice the little stares which never seemed to leave - like bugs crawling across his skin. He wasn’t that interesting, sure he came in walking beside Malfoy (his ‘mortal enemy’) but he’d walked in at the same time as other Slytherins on multiple different occasions.

He muttered a string of Parsel curse under his breath when he spotted Ron and Hermione’s gazes lock onto him from the entrance and stride up towards where he was sitting.

“Harry James Potter, where the hell were you last night?!” She shrieked, nostrils flared in unnecessary anger.

“Yeah, mate, where were you?!” Ron continued in a hiss, “i waited hours after curfew, had to deal with bloody Nevilles Herbology rant alone aswell, you still didn’t turn up!” 

Harry rested his head onto his fist, headache already growing in his skull,   
“I slept in the RoR, sorry for worrying you guys.” he replied weakly, hoping they’d drop it - or at least Hermione would (to stop her from beginning the nagging atleast).

“You should of at least told us where you were, Harry!!” She scolded, as someone would a child, Harry frowned at that - bordering on a scowl.

“I don’t need to tell you where i am at all times,” Harry said shortly, tired of being berated like a child.

“We’re your friends!! We have a right to know where each other is!” Hermione digressed, Merlin when was she going to just. Stop. Shouting- “especially after Siriu- what happened at the ministry. We want to be there for you!”

Harry’s eyes darkened, glaring at the empty plate on the table.

“Exactly, mate.” Ron chimed in.

How *dare* she bring up Sirius.

“Oh, well excuse me for wanting some time alone,” he hissed back at them both, standing up from his seat sharply, drawing eyes to watch what was happening. “I’d of thought that I’d deserve some isolation, seen as i never seems to get a break!” He was pissed, and was rather sure Parsel started tinging his words at he glared daggers at them.

He turned his attention back at Hermione,  
“And how dare you bring that up so ignorantly!” He spat, loving the shocked silence from her.

He turned, and stormed out of the Great-hall at an impressive speed, internally cursing at all the eyes following his back.

He reached the 6th floor before realising where he was walking. 

His hands where shaking at his sides in anger, and in a spurt of adrenaline he punched the stone wall to his left. The pain shook him gradually out of his pissed off haze, but not enough for him to think proper thoughts.

“Fuck.” He whispered out in pain, cradling his hand to his chest, leaning his forehead against the wall he’d stupidly attacked.

He was lucky it wasn’t broken. Very lucky indeed.

Punching solid stone tended to cause major injury. As would be expected, seen as it’s also enchanted against any breaks.

But knowing the feel of a broken bone from experience(which definitely does not sound healthy), he guess that surviving at the Dursley’s did have its own messed up advantages. 

He had entirely fucked his knuckles up though, they wouldn’t leave a scar - thank Merlin - but he didn’t doubt they’d take an age to heal up. 

So, as you would normally do when you got an injury. Harry decided to ignore it, casting a quick familiar ‘Furulo’ on his left hand (once again, lucky that he was decently ambidextrous) and stood up straight. Cast another quick cleaning charm to get rid of the blood. 

He went to gather his books from the dorms, then continued on with the day in an apathetic haze.

Hoping to whatever deity that the glamour Malfoy cast didn’t loose power any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Please leave a kudos - its free and very appreciated.
> 
> Leave a comment if you cba, i love hearing what anyone has to say - along with criticism. No matter how brutal.


	7. Sculptured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter sorry.  
> Working on a 2k one right now - just thought id give something more to read ahah.

He really shouldn’t of jinxed it. He also shouldn’t of expected the day to go by smoothly, but you couldn’t blame him for the false hope.

By the time lessons where over and came the few hours between the end of Transfiguration and Dinner, the glamour was gone leaving the scars open for the world to see. He’d been changing the bandaging for him hand throughout the day so his worry for the appendage was low.

So, here he was, trying to - and failing to - cast a glamour in a severely dusty abandoned classroom. Fuuuck, the best Harry had managed was making it a little faded. Casting it again, narrowing his eyes in concentration, he felt a foam rush over his skin - lying to him - only to leave the scars still there. Glaringly obvious.

He could-? No. He’s already seen the Slytherins enough. And there was no way to get into the Common room...well, he probably could get in, but he very much doubted that any of the Slytherins inside would appreciate it.

He cast the spell again absently, expecting nothing but sighing in relief. The skin on his neck was looking much smoother, only faint lines where the gashes were. They’d probably last a one-way trip to where-ever before fading out.

Harry supposed that he’d be staying in the RoR tonight then, having no intention of dealing with Rons snoring or complaining and Hermiones own form of berating. 

So thats what he did, for the next couple days actually. It was quiet. A thing Harry had been learning to cherish. His hand healing slowly, the burn of it distracting him from his friends’ glares as he refused to sit beside them. After 3 days he noticed something scratching at the back of his mind, a nagging, a pull of odd distrust, spite and disgust whenever he was around the Gryffindors. It was like he was seeing them all for the first time.

They were loud. So obnoxiously loud, that he was stunned his ears weren’t bleeding a fine trail of blood. The lions were emotional as well, no matter on the situation, any hopes of having a nice conversation went out the drain as soon as the Lions emotions came out like an open-book.

Harry heaved a sigh as he continued eating slowly, glaring a hole into the table, the shouting of the Gryffindors and the pure sloppiness of how the majority of them ate was killing his appetite with vindictiveness. 

His gaze moved over to the Slytherin table, quiet conversations being held and actual fucking table manners being used, he felt a spur of jealousy before looking back down to his food. Oh, if it couldn’t get any worse, Hermione decided that a Friday was a lovely day to confront him again. She slid into the seat infront, blocking any chance at looking at the Slytherins, and staring at him with pursed lips expectantly. What the hell was she expecting? He thought in annoyance,

“Are you finished with this strop you’ve thrown yourself into, Harry?” She demanded nasally, she certainly had a way of saying the wrong thing didn’t she? His expression darkened in irritation as he took another bite of bread, and merely stared at her,

“Well?!” She demanded.

The voices around where they were sitting quietened as they watched on, 

“Fuck off, and leave me be, Hermione.” Harry drawling lowly, staring blankly at her.

Now that brought silence from her, finally, he’d been hearing her ranting to Ron all week and the silence coming from her was something he could probably bask in.

He could see from her twitching lips that another infamous rant was going to start, and he really really did not want to be there to hear it.

So he stood from the table, and picked up his bag filled with books before making a split second decision. 

There wasn’t any rule against sitting at the Slytherin table were there? 

Well, it was too late now, he’d already passed the entrance and began making his way to the Green table. Already knowing where Malfoy was from his staring before, he walked past the other Slytherins sitting down - trying his hardest to ignore the stares from everyone in the hall - he wasn’t that fucking interesting seriously.

He finally reached behind the blonde who was sitting with the familiar Zabini, Nott and Parkinson - along with a couple other girls he didn’t know the names of.

Grey eyes were watching his approach cautiously,

“Can i sit here?” Harry asked receiving a nod from the boy, he took a seat to his right - in between Malfoy and Nott, “thanks.”

He took out one of the books he snook from Grimauld last year, an in-depth duelling book simply called ‘Duelling’, and began to read in attempt to block out the awkwardness and insistent staring from the school’s populous.  
He also, really tried to block out how nice it felt to sit so close to the two boys, forcing his subconscious to focus on the book.

Merlin, he needed to start thinking things through.


	8. Secure

Reading turned out to become quite a task, what with Snape deciding it was time to bring all his hatred through his glaring. The dower man looked close to a stroke with how furious he seemed, that Harry Potter had dared to even sit at his houses’ table. 

The surrounding Snakes where continuously glancing over at him, at an intense level of scrutiny.

He hadn’t really took notice but the two unknown girls were having severe internal debates, especially the one beside Parkinson - the other eventually feigning to loose interest and moving onto doing what the other students were doing. By that he meant still staring, just is short spurts (like he couldn’t fucking notice).

He was reaching the point in the Duelling book where the content was beginning to get rather dubiously cruel - he’d reached the end of a chapter, when a voice across the table sounded and got his attention, his eyes flickered up to peer at a dark haired girl hissing to Parkinson, 

“What in Morgana is Potter doing here?” She sneered, glancing over at him, to realise he was looking back, mildly interested. Her eyes widened slightly,

“I can leave..?” He muttered out, leaning to the left to aim the comment at Malfoy - seen as he was the person who allowed. The blonde jumped minutely - a thing you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t this close,

“No,” Nott said from his other side, drawing his attention to him, Nott was still staring at his own book which rested on the table, “Stay, Potter. Greengrass is just being an irritant for the sake of being so.” 

Greengrass sniffed at that in objection, going back to whisper something sharply at Parkinson which Harry couldn’t hear.

“Right,” he said unsurely, he liked sitting here and wouldn’t be the happiest if he was asked to go.   
He turned back to his book, 

~~~~~~~~~~  
Duelling, as a mastery, is much more varied that many other basic subjects. Its aspects outweigh what a lot of people would assume of it, seen as the general population of the Wizarding world focus on the traditional sides more than others, it is infrequently questioned.

Duelling is an art-form, and, contrasting to popular belief, is purely neutral. The spells you use during an instance of a duel, do not have to be as Grey. Originally, however, Duelling was much more based around that of Dark-er inclined Wizards, used as a form of expression for Wizards with a Dark core. 

Seen as Dark magic is based off of the intent and emotion from the caster, along with the natural magic world (a reason why Elemental Magicks are mostly illegal). Through Duelling, it was one of the main ways to have an output to such Dark cores.  
~~~~~~~~~~

Harrys eyebrows furrowed in thought, if Dark magic was so based off of intent then why was it banned? The intent of the wizard should be what they based illegalities from, not just an entire section of magic. Still...Dark magic wouldn’t have such a bad stigma if it wasn’t truly bad, would it? Harry was beginning to doubt the truth of a lot of thing lately, it seemed. 

He chanced a glance up from the book, and inspected the group around him, they would be a viable source of information. Despite the rumours of having Deatheater parents, he also knew that they’d have the most information about Dark magic. 

Regarding them each, non of them had actually done anything ‘bad’ towards him. Well, except Malfoy who’d taken it upon himself to place a rivalry betwixt them since first year. He felt the warmth coming from both boys on the sides of him, Notts’ arm brushing against his when the brunette reached over to grab an apple from a fruit bowl. 

He may as well ask, but he wasn’t sure if this was the place to do so. While there were muffling charms he didn’t wish to risk their immediate reaction at him casting one - he knew that he wouldn’t appreciate it all of a sudden.

He ran his left hand through his hair, the skin pulling awkwardly at the forgotten bandages wrapped around it. There was blood seeping through the wrapping indicating that they needed changing, he sighed - it was a little inappropriate to do it at the table but he needed to change them now, 

A hand grabbed at his wrist in a flash pulling towards them, Nott, who now had his eyes narrowly looking down a the bandages,

He flinched at the sudden movement, but Nott kept his hand firmly infront of himself, 

“‘finite’” he muttered out, Harry only noticing now that he had his wand out pointed towards the hand, Harry winced at the pull from the bandages when they returned to the wand, and disbelievingly said,   
“Did you punch a wall or something?” 

Harry hadn’t noticed the bruising before, but they must’ve started forming yesterday with how dark they were, he grimaced at Nott - basically an answer in its own.

“It’s not that bad.” Harry returned, attempting to relieve the situation, it obviously didn’t work. The group had turned to him to stare at the hand Theo was now covering with a furulo of his own - much more proficiently than he had been. 

Malfoy scoffed, “It looks like you got stood on by a Hippogriff, Potter. It does look that bad.” But he looked oddly concerned, Harry winced again but didn’t object, Malfoy seemed about ready to grab the hand as well to inspect it.

He’d gotten injured so many times over the years, and in response he’d become rather desensitised towards bruises and broken bones - the gashes on his neck where another story though. He hadn’t had something so bad mark his skin to permanently - and it was self inflicted. 

“Someone was being insensitive, and then blamed me for it.” Harry said, his hand being let go, so he could put the bookmark in the Duelling book and close it, leaving it on the table.

“So you punched a wall.” Nott deadpanned, it did sound pretty stupid when he put it like that. Malfoys eyes were surveying the hand again, Harry could see from the corner of his eye.

“It was either the wall or them.” Harry muttered out absently, running his right hand through his hair this time glancing at Nott as he spoke.

Harry honestly wasn’t sure what he would’ve done hadn’t he left at the time he did. It may of happened days ago but he was still very frustrated with how Hermione tried to guilt trip him in the argument. What made it worse was that Ron was barely listening and went along with what she said.

His last family member had died, and they were expecting him to just talk about it? Just barely a week after it happened? He thought he deserved the alone time, deserved to be somewhere without them trailing after him so obsessively observing everything he did. 

That reminded him about his little glamour problem, so he turned back towards Nott - whom had gone back to his book, though not without the occasional glance towards Harry, 

Harry asked quietly, “Do you know a more- uh, reliable method of covering the scars?” Making sure only Nott heard what he was asking, he felt a smidge of embarrassment over what had happened still - he’d been struggling with placing below average glamours on his neck for the past three days, and even though he was getting ever-so-slightly better at it. A more permanent way would be much better,

Nott looked up from his book to Harry, eyeing him for a second before saying, “Yes,” he glanced around, “it’s...questionable, however.”  
Harry frowned, confused,

“Questionable?” He inquired, interested but cautious about how Nott had worded it. 

The brunette hummed, still eyeing Harry hesitantly, “The magic isn’t necessarily,” he faltered, Malfoy was staring at not in warning but the boy continued, “Light.” 

Oh. Well, that was fine he supposed? Nott wouldn’t be so hesitant about helping if he truly didn’t mean to assist. Otherwise he wouldn’t have said anything. Harry had zero clue as to when he’d become to blasé about different areas of magic - the reason his Duelling book had shocked him was through the ultimately un-biased description of what Dark magic actually was. He’d basically survived off of the books in Grimauld last year, when he stayed over for half the summer, becoming once again desensitised to another thing. And some of those books were brutal. He internally shivered at the thought of some of the things he’d read.

Harry must’ve stayed quiet for longer than he thought because Nott shuffled uncomfortably (though his expression was purely blank), and Malfoys stare had become a stern glare at not - basically reprimanding him. 

“Ah,” Harry said in thought, it would be more reliable than the glamours, much more so. And. Even if whatever Nott was implying was meant to kill him, they hadn’t any true reason to do so, as well - they wouldn’t have much of an alibi seen as he’d been seen talking to them recently.   
“That’s fine. It doesn’t really matter, as long as it helps.” Harry ended up saying.

Which drew a small shocked look from Nott and a sharp inhale from Malfoy on his left, which he ignored and instead turned his attention to the table and reached over to grab some bread (which he buttered with this delicious salted butter, he’d have to thank the elves for having such good butter options).

Eventually, the others started up quiet conversation again, Greengrass’ tantrums being ignored when she showed no sign of stopping. She left not long after in a huff, glaring at him. He had to consciously stop himself from leaning into either of the Slytherins, which had him berating himself internally for the rest of lunch. 

Harry, Zabini and Malfoy had potions after lunch so they all left the hall at the same time in silent agreement. As they were walking, his internal conflict over the thing before halting and starting another rout when he fully realised he was the same height as the albino. 

Which confused him, he could’ve sworn that Malfoy was taller than him earlier this year. Harry tended not to expect growth spurts at all, due to his below shitty treatment at the Dursley’s, so this was very new to him.

If Malfoy noticed him staring, the blonde didn’t mention it. Zabini was to absorbed in whatever piece of paper he was inspecting to notice anything at all, but he was very impressively dodging any obstacles without looking up.

Perhaps Potions wasn’t going to be as chaotic this time he had Slytherins as acquaintances?

For once, he hadn’t jinxed it. Much to his extreme surprise.

Snape swooped in, in his usual manner - a deeper scowl morphed his face as he took note of Harry sitting beside Zabini on the Slytherin side of the classroom. 

Harry was gaining large number of glares from the Lions, he swore he heard ‘traitor’ being muttered a few times when he went to collect the ingredients. Everything was moving very fast in regards to his ‘acquaintance-ship’ with eh Slytherins, in the span of a couple days he’d been seen at his worst and both seen the sneering Snakes show concern over him. Which he was still doubting was actual concern, but he let it be for the moment.

Lovely. A Strengthening Solution. Probably the only potion he hadn’t been able to make sense of when reading through the book. But it turned out to not be as bad as expected.

Following along with Zabinis instructions, handing him the sliced goats’ liver when asked, Potions was actually semi-ok for once. As soon as you ignored the judgmental leers from the Gryffindors along with the little immature sneers from Snape.  
The overgrown bat taking it upon himself to put all his energy into the spiteful scrutiny.

What made it easier to deal with was Zabini taking any opportunity to block him from the stares by standing in the way of them. It made his steadily growing annoyance falter multiple times, his furious grip on the sharp utensils being the only thing indicating it. His face had taken to a cold scowl, something he’d mastered at appearing as when with the Dursleys. 

Slight twitches in Zabinis face showed he was getting equally as annoyed at the Gryffindors’ efforts at intimidating. 

This continued for the entire 2 hours of Potions, the joy of it being a Friday meaning they had double of it.

Two. Hours.

Oh, he was so thankful to Zabini. The deceptively snide boy actually made the lesson decent.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey,  
> Cheers for reading.  
> Please leave a kudos,  
> it costs nothing and makes my day a bit better ahah  
> Please leave a comment if you liked it or didn’t like it at all,  
> i l o v e criticism.  
> Helps to improve writing.
> 
> Sorry it’s short.
> 
> I’ll be posting a new chapter very very soon.


End file.
